Forty Weeks
by A. Windsor
Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled. Sequel to Happy, but can stand alone.  N/S, but with lots of Team.
1. Part 1

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job. Set six weeks after Nate and Sophie tell the team in _Happy_, but all you have to know is that Nate and Sophie are married and expecting.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Author's Note: I couldn't leave Nate and Sophie alone. This story will just show snapshots from Sophie's pregnancy, so it purposefully skips over time.

**Part One**

_16 weeks_

Sophie settles herself into the café chair with relief and annoyance. Relief, because she's not sure she could've gone another step, and annoyance, because even though it is a rather hot mid-August day in New England, a single hour of shopping on Newbury Street should not leave her so utterly exhausted. However, she is sixteen weeks pregnant, and, for the last two weeks, has yet to find a single thing that does not exhaust her.

Her constant companion/volunteer bodyguard sits down with more of an agitated air. It _has_ only been an hour, and Parker was promised an entire afternoon of shopping for baby and pregnancy needs, a subject that completely fascinates the thief. Parker has also, in her over-protectiveness, become frighteningly attuned to Sophie's moods, feelings, and physical symptoms.

"Are you okay? Do we need to go home? Nate said…" she asks, brow knitted.

"Parker," Sophie soothes, a hand covering Parker's fingers as they nervously pick at a napkin. "I'm fine. I just need a bit of a rest, and then they have this darling boutique two blocks down. _Nate_ is not in charge of me. He's not allowed to micromanage my pregnancy."

"Alec said he's just nervous and worried," Parker defends.

Sophie's annoyance softens. "I know. Let's grab a cold drink here, then call the men and see if they want to meet us for lunch in a few stores. We can do the rest of our shopping another day."

While the younger woman's hovering can be grating on her already frayed nerves, in the end she really loves the companionship of another woman, however strange, to share this with. Parker's eager attention and curiosity _is _rather endearing. Sophie remembers with affection the way Parker's face lit up when she'd first heard the baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound when she'd attended Sophie's doctor's appointment in Nate's stead.

"Okay," Parker relaxes, flagging down a waiter with a politeness Sophie has spent years breeding.

"Let's talk about something else. How are things with you and Hardison?"

Sophie knows that in Archie and Nate Parker has had father figures, however flawed, but that she has lacked for female role models; girl talk does not come naturally to her. They've made strides, though, and after a bit of token reluctance, as always, the younger woman spills her guts about her relationship with the hacker.

* * *

_18 weeks_

Sophie has always studied up on every role she's ever taken, and motherhood is no exception. Nate's pretty sure that she's read every single book available (and teases her accordingly).

"You know, we're genetically programmed to do this," he grins as she actually _takes notes_ on What to Expect…, her legs across his lap as he watches an (American) football game, one of his hands resting idly on her slight baby bump.

"No," she answers, irritated that he doesn't understand how important this is. "We're genetically programmed to make sure a child survives to the age of procreation, not to raise one into any sort of decent human being."

"You're right, I'm sorry," he says, his litany for the past eight weeks.

"Stop placating me," she says idly, swatting his hand with the end of her pen. Then, to soothe any tensions: "Who's winning?"

"Pats're up by three. Eliot will be disappointed."

"Shouldn't you be downstairs in the bar watching with them?"

"I want to watch with you."

"Nate, I really could not care less about this stupid sport."

"Fine, I want to watch with my child so that it doesn't grow up to have its mother's snooty English prejudice against football. And you're still attached."

"_American_ football," she corrects.

"Do you want me to go downstairs?" he asks, wondering if she's sick of him. He knows he's been hovering (over-)protectively close these days, but it's hard for the control freak within him to have his whole happiness wrapped up in her fragile body. If something were to happen to either of them, he couldn't pick up all of the pieces of his heart again.

"No, no. I was just asking. It's something the three of you usually do together."

She marks a few more notes down.

"I like Eliot and Hardison, but I'd much rather be up here with you. It's not a hard choice," he tells her, his eyes smiling.

Her hand covers his and squeezes.

"Do we want to find out if it's a boy or a girl? We have the appointment next week," she asks, his attention now diverted from the game.

He tilts his head, considering. "I don't see why not. What do you think?"

"Oh, the whole idea of waiting is silly. It's a surprise in two weeks just as much as in the delivery room, and I won't be on the fun painkillers. Besides, then we can decorate the nursery."

"Always looking for an excuse to go shopping," he shakes his head, squeezing her hand and shifting his attention back to the game.

"Did you find out with Sam?" she asks hesitantly.

Sophie doesn't usually like to talk about Sam; her own guilt and what-ifs from that time play a role in that, but so does the way that Nate flinches at his son's name. Still, they have agreed to talk more openly about him, so that their child will know about his or her older brother.

"Yeah," Nate says after a deep breath. "Did up the nursery in blue and racecars, focused on boys' names."

Sophie smiles. "Names. Have you thought of any yet?"

It's an exceptionally important topic for a woman who has not gone by her given name in decades, first out of necessity, now by choice.

Nate groans. "No. I'm still having trouble believe it's real."

She sets aside her book and pen and scoots closer. He slides his hand up to her bent knee and clicks off the television.

"Me too," she admits softly. "I never imagined us here. I'm not sure I even consciously hoped. I thought this was something I had missed."

He smiles. "Yeah, I have to say, when you shot me that one time, I never thought we'd end up here."

A sharp heel to his hip punishes his teasing, earning his rare, warm laugh.

"You shot me back!" she defends. "_In _the back, I might add. Not very gentlemanly of you. I cannot wait to tell our child _that_ bedtime story."

"You'll do no such thing. At least not without me there to defend myself," he grins, pushing her back onto the sofa.

"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" she sparkles at him, hands traveling up to his shoulders.

"Apologizing. Worked the first time," he shrugs.

"You're incorrigible," she complains, even as she leans up to kiss him.

They neck a little like teenagers, because they've somehow arrived at this place where they _can_, where they've stopped chasing and waiting and can move (are moving) forward together.

"Boy or girl?" she asks breathlessly as he presses a few feather-light kisses into her stomach, her fingers threaded in his curls.

"Healthy," he prays into her belly.

The front door opening cuts off her teary response.

"Aw, c'mon. Y'all've got a bed right up the stairs!" Hardison complains. "Ow!"

"Leave them alone," Parker scolds, "Nate's talking to the baby."

She, of course, doesn't follow her own advice, inserting herself between Nate and Sophie on the couch. She pats Sophie's stomach, as has become her custom, and greets:

"Hi, baby."

"Hello, Parker," Sophie says warmly as Nate sighs and looks back to Hardison, who has, of course, already poured himself a glass of orange soda.

"Where's Eliot?"

"Pouting," Hardison grins. "Didn't you see that last drive?"

"No," Nate says pointedly.

"Oh, well, the 'Boys were mounting a heck of a comeback, but then their QB threw an interception and your cornerback ran it into the end zone."

Hardison then recreates the touchdown dance.

"It's like they're speaking another language," Sophie directs to Parker, who has pulled her box 'o' locks out from under the couch.

"Not really. They've been teaching me," Parker says.

Nate gives up the hope of alone time with his wife for the next few hours as Sophie shrugs sympathetically at him. He tosses the remote to Hardison and contents himself with listening to Parker, somewhat accurately, explain American football to their grifter in her strange, Parkerish way, while Hardison flips through the million channels.

* * *

_to be continued..._


	2. Part 2

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job. Set six weeks after Nate and Sophie tell the team in _Happy_, but all you have to know is that Nate and Sophie are married and expecting.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Author's Note: Thanks for the great response! I hope you're still enjoying!

**Part Two**

_20 weeks_

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Nate."

"Eliot."

"Where are you?"

"In Harvard Square, trying to find that specific…"

"Where are you supposed to be?" Eliot interrupts with his trademark growl.

Puzzled, Nate starts to fumble with his phone in search of his calendar.

"Forget it. Just get in the car, drive to 330 Brookline Ave, go to the fifth floor, and don't stop. Except maybe to get flowers. Yeah, flowers would be a great idea."

"What? Why?"

"Nate. You're late for the ultrasound."

"Shit."

"Yeah, Parker's there with her, but after you missed the last one…"

"There were extenuating circumstances."

"You're not allowed to miss this one. Go," Eliot continues, undeterred.

Nate's already on the move, cursing to himself. Damn, he is sucking at this whole thing this time around. He knows pretty flowers will soothe Sophie's ire for now, but he really has to step it up.

He pretty much has to beg his way into the exam room once he gets there, but he is informed that the doctor is running behind, so he isn't _too_ late, and, in fact, Sophie should even have several minutes to berate him before they're ready for the ultrasound.

Nate steels himself and enters the room.

* * *

"I'm going to kill you," Sophie says evenly as Nate opens the door, and in that moment, she means it one hundred percent. If there had been sharp objects in the room, she would've been a widow before he crossed the threshold.

"Soph… I'm so sorry," he starts, cut off by her glare.

Parker, unfazed by the tension, takes advantage of the pause to contribute:

"They thought we were both the moms," she laughs, Parker-like, at her perceived absurdity.

"That's great, Parker. Can we have a minute?" Nate asks.

"Don't be short with her," Sophie scolds. "She was here."

She watches Nate swallow a sharp retort.

"I'm sorry, Parker, but we really need to talk. Alone."

The thief looks to her beloved grifter for her cues.

"I want to see the baby, though," she says, even as she moves to the door at Sophie's nod.

"We'll come get you," the older woman promises.

Alone, Sophie turns her hurt gaze back to Nate, frustrated.

"You forgot," she accuses, feeling the anger bubble up anew. "You _forgot_. And after last time…"

"There were extenuating circumstances," he defends, but they both know it's a weak protest.

She promised herself she wouldn't cry, but damn, he makes her so angry sometimes, and that paired with second trimester hormones and the vulnerability of a paper-thin gown is fast making her break that promise.

"You've never even heard our child's heartbeat. For God's sake, that blurry ultrasound picture is Parker's bloody phone background and you've never even heard the heartbeat!"

He hangs his head, and goddammit he needs to stop that hangdog act because it alternately infuriates her and makes it impossible to stay angry with him, and she does _not_ need any more conflicting emotions in her head.

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry."

She has to bite her lip to keep in the string of obscenities that wholly inadequate response elicits.

"I hear it," he continues, still refusing to meet her eyes. "At night. I sleep, and I hear it, until it turns into the sound of Sam's monitor flat-lining."

His words kick the breath out of her chest.

"That's not why I'm late. I did just forget, at least consciously, and that's not okay, and I'm sorry…"

"Come here," she interrupts softly, holding a hand out to him, managing to keep the tears to a minimum. She reads the surprise in his eyes as they snap up at her order. "I thought we agreed to talk about this. This won't work if you can't tell me what you're thinking."

He crosses to her, and her tension bleeds away as his fingers thread through hers.

"I know. I'll try. And I really am sorry that Parker's a better husband than I am."

Sophie laughs as he wipes her tears with his knuckles, noting how wet his own eyes are.

"She's not," she promises. "And you have plenty of time to prove that you're better." She kisses his wrist. "Now go get her, before she wreaks havoc."

As he goes to the door, she calls him back.

"Nate, what kind of flowers are waiting in the car?"

"Pink roses," he smiles, making her heart skip a little as he's halfway out the door. He throws back over his shoulder, "I'm secretly hoping for a girl."

She smiles at the closed door and admits:

"Me too."

* * *

"It's a girl!" Parker announces to the anxiously awaiting Eliot and Hardison, before Nate and Sophie are even all the way through the door.

"Way to steal our thunder, Parker," Sophie complains, only slightly irked at the loss of her dramatic moment, because Nate's hand is warm and solid on her back and everything suddenly feels a thousand times more real since they saw their daughter's face on the 3D ultrasound.

Nate has taken custody of all copies of said ultrasound, and while "the boys" excitedly swamp Sophie with congratulations and questions, he proudly displays the printout on the refrigerator. Then he tosses the CD to Hardison.

"We're watching it on the big screen!" Hardison exclaims.

Sophie rolls her eyes as Parker requests popcorn and promises to show them all of her favorite parts.

* * *

"This is my favorite part," Nate says softly. "It's like she's waving at us."

They have the apartment/office to themselves, finally, since Nate chased the others away thirty re-watchings ago. They've taken up their usual seats, Nate at one end, Sophie stretched across with her legs in his lap. The mother-to-be, exhausted from the day, has been dozing off and on as Nate sits entranced by their baby girl's tiny form up on the screen, the surround sound letting the strong, steady heartbeat envelope them.

"Hmm…" Sophie acknowledges, half-asleep.

"Right there," he pauses it on the blurry hand. "Do you see it?"

"Mmhmm," she answers, eyes closed. They snap open with a start. "Oof."

"Are you okay?" Nate demands, an edge of panic in his voice.

Sophie nods as she sits up, and a slow smile spreads across her face. She grabs his hand and presses the palm to her belly. "Do you feel that?"

Her voice is rough with sleep and awe. Nate's brow knits as he waits, and then, just as suddenly, he gives a jump and a stupid grin.

"She's kicking," he laughs.

"It feels very strange," Sophie admits.

"Miraculously strange?"

"Definitely."

"She's your daughter. She likes seeing herself up on the big screen."

She thumps him lightly for his impertinence.

"Hey, your mom is abusing me," Nate directs to her stomach.

"Oh, don't listen to him. Mummy would never do such a thing."

Nate shakes his head.

"Lying to her already."

Sophie rolls her eyes, pausing when she feels another kick.

She sighs, "She really _is_ in there."

Nate meets her eyes, their faces only illuminated by the light of the ultrasound paused on the display.

"Close your eyes," he whispers to her belly. "I'm about to kiss your mother."

_to be continued_


	3. Part 3

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job. Set six weeks after Nate and Sophie tell the team in _Happy_, but all you have to know is that Nate and Sophie are married and expecting.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Author's Note: Y'all really lucked out on this one. It was supposed to be two separate chapters, but I decided each would be cruelly short. Here's a double dose. Hope you enjoy!

**Part Three**

_26 weeks_

They've taken half as many jobs since they learned she was pregnant. When they do take one, Sophie takes Nate's role as mastermind and Nate and Parker (god help them) split the role of grifter. It's a pretty good system, but it does mean that Nate is out conning a mark when it happens.

* * *

Nate's sitting in on this mind-numbing lecture simply to establish his cover. Parker has already completed her part and hurried back to the apartment to join Eliot and Sophie. Hardison and Lucille 3.5 (3.0's body with a new engine) sit watch three blocks away, listening in on the mark's bug just on the off chance their relatively safe recon goes sour.

Nate pretends to take notes, but instead focuses on Parker, Eliot, and Sophie's idle chatter in his earbud. Outwardly, his demeanor remains passive, but inside he's grinning at the ridiculous baby names the team members suggest and the reactions they elicit from Sophie.

"Uhura," Hardison tosses over the line.

Eliot groans, though Nate doesn't think it is any worse than his contribution: Talulah.

"No Star Trek, Hardison," Sophie says for the umpteenth time.

"Well, in that case, I think Alexandra is really nice."

"That _is _pretty," Sophie muses.

Nate waits for her to catch on. Three, two…

"Oh! Hardison! We're not naming her after you."

Parker laughs, and Nate can almost hear Eliot rolling his eyes.

"Why not?" Hardison whines.

"Because," Sophie starts, but she doesn't finish, because she then makes the single most awful sound, part moan, part gasp, that Nate has ever heard, and all hell breaks loose.

"Sophie!" Parker cries, utterly distraught. Eliot echoes her.

This is accompanied by a muffled thump and then:

"Good catch, Parker. Keep her head elevated."

"What the hell?" Hardison demands as the blood rushes into Nate's head and his stomach drops.

"Soph passed out," Eliot says in his clipped, ex-military voice. "Hardison, get Nate to the hospital, now. Nate, just breathe. Forget about the con. Hardison will pick you up out back. Hardison, private line."

Nate's com goes dead.

* * *

Eliot returns his attention to the two women on the floor before him.

Sophie has shown no signs of stirring. Parker, whose astounding reflexes had saved Sophie from serious external injury, is now cradling the grifter's head in her lap. She strokes her dark hair, not unlike the way Sophie strokes the thief's when she cuddles up close "to the baby" on Movie Night. Her eyes are terrified as they beg Eliot to do something.

"Hardison. Beth Israel. We'll meet you there. Keep an eye on him."

"Is she alright?" his anxious voice demands.

"No. She grabbed her stomach and passed out. Probably not okay."

"Oh god."

"But that's what hospitals are for," Eliot tries to soothe his harsh words, mostly for devastated Parker's benefit.

"Got Nate," Hardison says, sounding far too detached.

"What the hell was that, Hardison?" They hear Nate rage over Alec's com. "What's wrong with Sophie?"

"Leaving now," Eliot tells the hacker, leaving him to handle Nate. He bends down to receive Sophie's limp frame from Parker. He notes with relief that there's so far no sign of the telltale blood of a miscarriage, though he knows these things can be tricky. Settling Sophie in his arms, he realizes that if he were a praying man, right now would be a great time to start begging for her to be okay. He's not, but he starts asking anyway.

* * *

She smells Parker first when she comes to, probably because the thief is perched cross-legged on the hospital nightstand earnestly studying her for signs of life. The fact that scent is her first conscious sense tells her she's been spending far too much time with the younger woman.

"She's up," Parker announces to the room.

Sophie's eyes immediately search out Nate, because she knows he's in there; she can feel him even before she can see him. He pauses in his pacing and crosses to her.

"Eliot, the doctor," he orders.

Eliot vacates the room, motioning for the other two to follow. Hardison has to drag Parker away.

"Nate," Sophie says urgently. "The baby."

"She's fine, just fine," he assures her, letting out the breath he's been holding since she'd passed out. He takes her hand in his as he sits at her side, his other hand cupping her cheek, proving to himself that she is actually here and real and whole. "Gave me a repeat performance on the ultrasound while you were sleeping. Definitely waving this time."

"What happened?"

"You were pretty dehydrated and a little anemic," a young doctor answers from the doorway, a professionally warm smile on her face. "Welcome back, Mrs. Baker. I'm Dr. Green. You gave us a bit of a scare, but you'll be just fine. And so will your daughter. How are you feeling?"

"A little out of it, but otherwise okay. When can I go home?"

"We're getting your fluids back up, and I'd like to keep your overnight for observation, just in case."

"I thought you said I was fine," Sophie says. Neither she nor Nate relish the idea of her spending a night cooped up in a hospital room.

"_Will_ be fine," the comely blonde corrects. "We need to make sure all your levels stabilize and run a few more precautionary tests. If everything checks out in the morning, you can head home."

"No need to rush anything," Nate reiterates, "We have to make sure you're both healthy."

Sophie meets his eyes, sees how haunted their blue depths are.

"Okay," Sophie agrees. "Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome. Alright, so visiting hours are almost over. You need your rest, so I'll have to kick your entourage out."

"But I can stay, right?" Nate asks/demands.

"As long as you're comfortable sleeping in a hospital chair."

Sophie's heart breaks at the though of how accustomed to that Nate really is.

"Okay, thank you, doctor," Nate echoes.

Dr. Green nods and leaves them alone.

"You don't have to stay, Nate. I know how hospitals affect you. I'm sure Parker can…"

"We talked about this. I'm not going to let Parker be a better husband that I am," Nate tries to lighten the mood.

"Nate…"

"Soph, I'm not going anywhere, and that's it. You should get some more rest."

Her eyes _do_ feel heavy, but she fights it.

"Nate, talk to me."

"Later. After you sleep, and I stop… thinking."

Her body betrays her, eyes slipping closed.

"Tell me what," she yawns, "You're thinking."

"Caught you. Now sleep. I'll be here," he assures her, squeezing her hand.

She does begin to doze off, and Nate takes the opportunity to kiss her temple and whisper:

"I can't lose you two, too. Can't put it back together without you to pull me into living again."

She sleeps through the confession, but it's a pointless one, anyway, because she already knows all that, knows the risk he took in loving again, in allowing himself to have something that could be taken away. She knows, or at least intuits, that allowing himself to love their daughter is the hardest thing he's ever done, and that imagining her future, having hopes and dreams for her, without letting fear overtake him, is the bravest.

* * *

Sophie is thankfully sent home in the morning with a few dietary instructions and a stern reminder that she's hydrating for two now. She is otherwise given a clean bill of health, her defense again the over-protectiveness of the team.

"I can _walk up the stairs_ by myself, thank you," she informs them. "In fact, I can walk so much that tomorrow, I'm going crib shopping. Any of you who would like to join me and who can refrain from coddling me are welcome to come."

"Crib shopping?" Nate questions, and she can see him struggling to help her up the stairs without giving the illusion of coddling.

"Yes, we only have some three months left before she'll need said crib, and the nursery's nowhere near decorated."

"Sophie darlin'," Eliot says, gently, "The nursery's not even finished."

"Hmm, sounds like something you and Hardison can do while we go shopping."

"What about Parker?" Eliot asks.

"She's coming with us," Sophie decrees with a reassuring touch on the hovering blonde's shoulder.

"I get to go?"

Sophie nods.

Parker's eyes light up, and she grabs Hardison's hand, pulling him up the rest of the stairs at a sprint.

"Where are we going?"

"Research!" Parker duhs as they disappear into the apartment.

"This baby's gonna have the safest crib on the planet once Parker's done with her research," Eliot notes wryly. "And yes, Hardison and I will make sure there are at least walls in the nursery by the end of the day."

"You could just hire someone," Sophie suggests as they reach the apartment at a more sedate speed and Nate holds the door open (gentlemanly, not coddling, he tells himself).

"That'll work well," Eliot snarks. "Sure, come build a nursery in the apartment above our secret lair."

"You sound like Hardison," Nate notes.

Eliot looks very disturbed.

"Alright, then. What do y'all want for lunch? Besides lots of water for mama and baby, of course."

* * *

Boston is a lovely city, a bit awful midwinter, but otherwise quite nice. But in all of her earlier fantasies about sharing a life with Nate Ford (back when they had been silly impossibilities she dreamed in lavish European hotel rooms while he returned to his life and wife and son in ridiculously sunny, horridly American Los Angeles) she had never once imagined them in Boston. In her fantasies (as in their real life chase), they had moved from pied-a-terre to pied-a-terre in the great cities of Europe, the Middle East, and Northern Africa, ancient cities full of romantic history and lots of exquisite art for them to steal together. (Nate the thief, apart, perhaps, from the ring on her finger, is the one part of her fantasies that actually, surprisingly, came true.) She certainly did not dream of them crib shopping with a notoriously insane cat burglar in Boston, Massachusetts. (She would have allowed him the occasional visit to New York if he had really felt the need to return to the US.) Of course, Boston is definitely superior to Chicago, that awful, cold, windy city where she'd somehow found herself trying to live as an honest citizen away from her enemies in Europe and in the same country as the most honest (and now most broken) man she'd ever met.

So now Boston, where Nate grew up, will be the city where they raise their daughter. Though she still longs for the familiarity and grandeur of Europe, she's come to terms with Boston, grown even to love it on crisp, cool days like this one, when she can wear pretty warm scarves against the cool breeze and slip her hand into Nate's on the pretense of trying to stay warm, pressing her side close against him to steal his heat.

Their fingers linked, she pulls him along behind Parker, who claims to have found the perfect crib. His nose is a bit red from the cool air, but that same cool makes his eyes seem even bluer as he looks at her, half with concern, half with an appreciation that still makes her blush.

Parker finally leads them to a very cute (and very high-end) baby store, stopping in front of the lovely mahogany crib on display, with a Parkerish flair of ta-da.

"It's beautiful," Sophie praises.

Parker launches into a long explanation of why _this_ is the best crib for the baby. Nate listens intently, but Sophie trusts Parker on this one and instead focuses on the crib itself.

Dropping Nate's hand, she runs her hands over the smooth wood and allows herself to imagine putting her daughter to sleep every night in this bed, to imagine tiny eyes (dark like hers or blue like Nate's?) drifting shut, nuzzled comfortably on the crib's mattress.

"What do you think?" Nate interrupts her imagining, hand covering hers on the wood.

"It's perfect."

Parker's mouth says: "That's what I said," but her eyes beam at the affirmation of her hard work.

"We'll take it," Nate calls to the clerk. "And anything else the ladies pick out."

Of course, at this confirmation of their big spender status, they have the full attention of the staff.

"Hmm," Sophie murmurs, arm around Nate's waist under his warm fall coat. "How easily you spend my money."

"I've been in the storage unit. Several of them, actually," he says back softly, sliding his own arm around her shoulders even as he watches Parker flit about the store badgering the clerks. "There's plenty left." He drops a kiss to her crown. "You gonna let her pick everything out?"

"No, just letting her do the _research_." She directs him towards the linens. "Now, we need a color scheme."

Nate groans. "Soph, you know I'm bad at this stuff."

"Just pick a color, and we can pick a complementary one to paint the walls, once they're up."

"Can't we just do pink?"

The look she gives him makes him groan again. Parker comes over to tell them all about their choices for the best stroller, high chair, car seat, and changing table.

"And we should get a sling. One that fits Alec and Eliot, too," Parker laughs at her own visual.

"Alright, Parker," Sophie agrees. "But you're still not allowed to rappel with the baby."

* * *

_to be continued_


	4. Part 4

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team (plus Tara)

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job. Set six weeks after Nate and Sophie tell the team in _Happy_, but all you have to know is that Nate and Sophie are married and expecting.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with this one. Two more parts after this. I'm glad you're still enjoying!

**Part** **Four**

_29 weeks_

They finally settle on faint minty green linens and paint the walls a pale lavender with bright Gerbera daisies painted by Sophie's expert hand. The nursery is coming along well. Painting becomes a team-wide activity, with the others doing the rolling and Sophie directing while she pencils in the daisies.

They haven't taken a job since the day of Sophie's hospital visit. (The younger team members had finished that one that night, quickly and ruthlessly, not wanting to leave a job unfinished but having little time or patience for subtlety.)

There's an unspoken agreement that they'll only take the jobs that are time sensitive, afraid of putting too much stress on their grifter-turned-mastermind, who always worried when their mastermind-turned-grifter was doing her job.

One such job does pop up in early November., and it is both pressing and beyond the pay grade of their two substitute grifters. Apart from their fears about stress, at seven months along, Sophie is showing far too much to pull off the job herself. That leaves them two options: turn down the job or call in back-up.

"Hardison didn't mention why you need me on this one," Tara says amiably into the webcam, trying to figure out just what exactly is different about Sophie. "Mark know your face? Planning another soul-searching globetrot?"

"Nothing like that," Sophie grins, leaning over and back to grab something behind her.

"Or because you're like a million months pregnant!" Tara exclaims.

"Only seven months," Sophie corrects with a laugh.

"Holy shit, Soph. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because this moment is far more entertaining."

"Of course, your flair for the dramatic."

"Hopefully she'll inherit it."

Sophie rests her hand on her stomach.

"It's a girl?"

Sophie nods with a beaming smile.

"Hi, Tara," Parker suddenly interrupts, passing through the frame. She stops just long enough to rub Sophie's belly and continues on her way.

"She's an odd one."

"Tell me about it," Sophie sighs affectionately, "She's barely left my side since we told them! She's fairly obsessed with the whole matter."

"So you're retired?"

"Maternity leave," Sophie demurs. "I had a bit of a health scare a while back, plus we're not as young as we used to be."

"Bit of a health scare," Tara hears Nate grumble in the background.

"So you want me to pinch hit?"

"If you have a few days to come help. You'll get a cut."

"Yeah, sure, I can move some stuff around. It's been awhile. It'll be nice to see you."

"Oh great, thank you. Hardison will send you a plane ticket. Is Thursday too soon?"

"That'll be great. See you then."

* * *

_30 weeks_

The town car drops her off in front of McRory's, which hasn't changed a bit. Sophie texted her earlier to tell her they would all be in the back room of the bar and to come on through. They all greet her warmly, even Parker, who had once dangled her off a building. Tara immediately notices two things: first, that neither Nate or Parker is ever more than five feet away from Sophie, and second, that Sophie Devereaux is the single most beautiful pregnant woman she has ever seen.

She sits under the arm Nate has slung over the back of her chair, her eyes bright, her face beaming. She's adopted the unconscious habit of resting her hand on her expanded stomach (only seven months?).

Tara has never seen Sophie so at peace, with full trust in her team, in her family.

The younger team members order a round of drinks from the bar. Tara regales them with anecdotes from her recent jobs, the others groaning when she and Sophie get too caught up in shoptalk. The team then tells all about their misadventures in nursery decorating, highlighting the inability of their five great minds combined to put together the crib and changing table.

"I put the dresser together," Parker defends her greatness.

"Ya just had to put the drawers in, Parker," Eliot deflates her ego.

Park shrugs and moves on to showing Tara the baby's latest ultrasound picture on her phone, pointing out every barely identifiable feature.

"Alright, well, unfortunately I have to call it a night," Sophie says as the evening gets later, stifling her fourth yawn in ten minutes.

"Want company?" Nate asks as she stands.

"No, stay, have fun," Sophie assures him with a squeeze on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight."

"'Night." Nate drops his hand to her belly. "Goodnight."

That earns a round of mocking "Aw"s from all involved, which Tara gladly joins in.

"I'm coming too," Parker announces, popping up and gluing herself to Sophie's side, disappearing into the bar with her.

"I'm clingy, but Parker is just endearing," Nate complains with a wry smile.

"Hey, man, I've lost my girlfriend to a fetus," Hardison commiserates.

"This baby is making us weirder," Eliot sighs, and Tara must agree.

"No whiskey, Nate?" Tara questions.

"No whiskey in twenty weeks, no more for six to ten more," Nate answers matter-of-factly, swirling around his seltzer.

"They made a deal," Hardison elaborates, "If Sophie can't drink, Nate can't drink. Nate's been surprisingly nice about it."

"Thanks, Hardison."

When later that night their substitute grifter sees him staring at a bottle of Jameson, she asks:

"Long five months?"

Nate shakes off his malaise and answers, "Worth it," and takes his leave for the night.

"It's not that big of a deal," Eliot tells her after Nate's gone. "With Nate, drinking was always a symptom, and he's had it under control for the past couple years. More social, less medicinal. I think it's just to prove to both of them that he can."

"He's a totally different person."

Hardison laughs. "Yeah, he's more whipped than ever."

"He's good to her, though. Right?" Tara asks, ever doubtful of Nate's ability to step up and be a man who deserves Sophie.

"Yeah, they're pretty disgusting," Hardison assures her. "More schmoopy than ever."

"They still fight, a lot, but it's mostly bickering, and they actually talk about shit," Eliot clarifies.

"Do you really think you'll be able to keep pulling jobs once the baby's here? That's a hell of a complication."

"Sure," ever-optimistic Hardison shrugs.

Just then, Parker reappears in the doorway, and Hardison takes his leave for the night. "See y'all at the briefing."

"To answer your earlier question, no. I don't think we can. But, what can we do? Can't begrudge them their happiness. They'll figure it out soon; both too stubborn to admit it yet," Eliot admits, finishing off his drink.

"And the rest of you? You're all pretty domesticated yourselves. All that talk about cribs and ultrasound pictures."

Eliot smiles a little. "We'll do it as long as we can."

In a lull in the con, Tara finds Sophie working on some of the detail work on the daisies in the nursery. Three of the walls are done, dark mahogany furniture contrasting with the light paint. The dresser and changing table each cover one wall, and in one corner is a beautifully crafted rocking chair. Pushed away from the wall and covered in a dust cloth is what must be the crib.

"Hello," Sophie greets her warmly, setting aside her paintbrushes. She's dressed in her painting clothes: a pair of leggings, one of Nate's undershirts and one of his button-ups donated to the cause, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail.

"Hey," Tara returns, slipping out and flipping off her ear bud.

Knitting her brow, Sophie does the same.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine. Just wanted to talk to you without Hardison's running commentary."

Sophie smiles. "Ah, yes. One does get used to it."

"If you say so."

"Do you mind if I sit?" Sophie asks, stretching out her back.

"God, of course not."

Sophie settles into the rocking chair. Tara leans against the changing table.

"Nursery looks good," Tara starts.

"Thanks," Sophie draws out, obviously trying to read her fellow grifter. "Out with it, then."

"Can't you afford a nicer place? I know you're doing the whole Robin Hood thing now, but you had a _very_ successful career before."

"Of course I can," Sophie says slowly.

"Then why are you putting a nursery above the team headquarters? This is a bachelor pad, at best."

"We like it here. Nate grew up nearby." She crosses her arms over her stomach. "Is this about the location of the nursery or the _existence_ of the nursery?"

"Sophie, is this really the life you want? Eliot told me you haven't acted in years. Is that because of Nate?"

"Nate _loves _my acting," Sophie defends, "It's just not who I am anymore."

"So, now you're the barefoot and pregnant type."

"I'm not…"

Tara rises an eyebrow and gestures easily to her feet, earning a Sophie glare.

"Regardless of whether or not I'm wearing shoes, Tara, I'm not the same person I was when we were running around the world conning ridiculously wealthy men. And yes, _this_ is the life I want. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright. I'm sorry. It's just…"

Sophie relaxes her guard and nods sympathetically. "I know, I've had the same arguments in my head a few times, and this is always the conclusion I come to. Though, I do suddenly feel the need to put on some shoes."

Tara smiles.

"And you love him?"

"More than anything. Well," she drops a hand to her belly. "Almost anything."

"Sophie?" Parker's voice reaches them, soon followed by the thief herself. "Oh, here she is. She's just talking to Tara." Parker directs herself to the two grifters. "Nate wanted to ask Sophie about something for the job, but when he couldn't get you on coms, he was… Nate about it."

Sophie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pushing herself out of the chair to retrieve her ear piece.

"Clingy, Nate, very clingy," Sophie complains, but she does it with a smile on her face. "Yes, we're coming down now, but you really have to stop. I'm _in the apartment_, No, Parker wasn't worried, you were worried."

"I was worried, too," Parker pipes up.

And with the way the younger woman has been hovering, Tara isn't surprised.

"Well then, you need to stop, too," Sophie says more gently, shooing Parker out of the door. "Two more months and then they can put all this nervous energy into the baby. I'll be wonderfully irrelevant."

As Tara puts her own earpiece in she hears Nate say:

"Fat chance."

* * *

_to be continued_


	5. Part 5

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team (plus Tara)

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job. Set six weeks after Nate and Sophie tell the team in _Happy_, but all you have to know is that Nate and Sophie are married and expecting.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. (Except for Baby Girl Ford!)

Author's Note: Thanks for the great response! Hope you enjoy.

**Part Five**

_38 weeks_

"Alec! Alec, wake up!"

The hacker does as he's told, flailing around in search of the attacker.

"Parker!" he complains, finding only his girlfriend in their bed. "What the hell?"

His ire is forgotten as the way she kneels beside him reminds him of just how short the shorts she wore to bed tonight are.

"Sophie's having the baby."

Well, that's enough to get his adrenaline going again.

"We have to go get Eliot and go to the hospital," Parker continues.

"Mama, it takes hours to have a baby. We can go in the morning."

"I'm going now," Parker declares, and Hardison sighs as he pulls himself out of bed, knowing that means he'll go too. "Can't miss the end."

"It's not the end, Parker. It's just the beginning."

* * *

Ella Rose Ford (Baker on the birth certificate, but Uncle Alec will take care of that later) is born at 1:24pm on a freezing January 12th at Beth Israel Deaconess. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, making everyone's two in the morning drive to the hospital interesting, but it blankets the city beautifully from the hospital window.

"I still don't understand why they had to go and name her after you, man," Hardison says in a whisper, as not to wake the exhausted new parents asleep in Sophie's hospital bed. For all of his complaining, he's yet to take his eyes off of the tiny little girl cradled in his broad hands.

"They didn't name her after me, Hardison," Eliot whispers with his customary annoyance. "They already told you. She's named after Nate's mom, Eleanor. Now, you've had plenty of time, give 'er to me."

Reluctantly, Hardison hands over precious little Ella. Eliot immediately cradles her against his strong chest. The newborn in unfazed by the transfer. Her arms and legs are swaddled up tight, but her dark, dark curls tickle the crook of Eliot's elbow.

"Where'd Parker go?" the hitter asks the hacker softly.

"Umm. That's a great question. I have no idea."

"She'll be back," Eliot assures. "She hasn't held Ella yet."

* * *

"I heard a nasty rumor, Parker," Sophie says to the thief as little Ella pretends to drink from the bottle she offers.

Brow knit with her patented concentration as she stares at Ella, Parker just answers: "Hmm?"

"You haven't held your niece yet."

Parker looks up sharply. "I… I don't want to break her."

"You won't break her, Parker," Sophie assures patiently.

"I've never held one before."

"A baby?" Sophie asks, smiling encouragingly.

Parker nods.

"It's not that hard. You have the surest hands I've ever seen. You'll be great. I'll show you how."

"Hands're full," Parker delays, bringing her hands from behind her back to reveal a soft stuffed elephant, not much smaller than six pound, fourteen ounce, eighteen inch Ella herself. It has a dapper red bow around its neck, obviously tied with care.

"You brought her a present. Is that where you ran off to?"

"I was supposed to have until January 20th. I was gonna get it tomorrow."

"It's not an exact science, Parker."

"I bought it," Parker quickly assures her. "I mean, I could've stolen it, but it just seemed wrong."

"It's perfect. Why an elephant?"

"'Cause her name is Ella," she says with her Parker "duh" face firmly in place.

Sophie laughs.

"This is Fanny," Parker extends the gift, setting it on Sophie's pillow so that it looks down on Ella.

"And this, Ella," Sophie directs to her daughter, putting down the bottle and turning the baby towards Parker. "This is your Aunt Parker, who brought you Fanny. I'm sure you recognize her voice."

"She can do that?"

"Yes. You talked to her so often, I bet she knows your voice best. Aside from Nate, you're the one who talked to her most. Now, are you ready to hold her? I would really like you to."

"Okay," Parker acquiesces. "What do I do?"

"Will it make you feel better to sit?"

Parker nods and sits on the bed by Sophie's knee.

"Alright, now. The single most important thing is to remember to support her head at all times. Good. Now her bum…" Sophie guides Parker through it, slowly removing her own hands until Parker is unknowingly in full custody of young Ella Ford. "There. Perfect."

But Parker doesn't seem to hear her, entranced as she is by her closeness to the baby.

"Hi, Ella," she says softly, holding her close to her chest on instinct, right above her own heart, which thumps louder against the newborn's body.

"You're already great at this. You'll be babysitting in no time."

Parker stiffens at that. "Sophie, why do you trust me with her? What if I mess her up?"

Sophie, a little heartbroken at that, lays a warm hand on the thief's shoulder.

"You have been at my side nearly every moment of the past seven months, Parker, whether I thought I needed you or not. As much as I would love to think that was all about me, we both know it wasn't. You love Ella; you've loved her since before she had a name or even fingernails. You love her, and I know you will do everything within your power to never let anything hurt her. That is the most anyone can ask of anyone, and that's why I trust you."

"Even though I'm weird."

"Even though you're weird."

Parker smiles a little, almost unconsciously, as she continues to stare at Ella.

"I do have one rule, though," Sophie continues.

"Yeah?"

"You _must_ share her with Eliot and Hardison. No fighting over the baby."

"I promise I'll try," Parker agrees, pressing her nose to the crook of Ella's neck and inhaling deeply.

* * *

She's perfect. Not just ten fingers, ten toes, everything in working order, perfect, but most beautiful child to ever grace this world, perfect. She knows Nate agrees, though she's tied for that title with the older brother she'll tragically never meet.

Nate's gone home now, to shave and shower and make sure the nursery is all ready for their arrival in the morning. He'd left, however briefly, on two conditions: her promise that she was just fine, and Eliot, standing watch in the waiting room for signs of trouble.

Parker and Hardison were both ordered home as well, though Eliot told her that the hacker had to promise to get her the latest Glenn Rieder safe in order to drag her from the hospital for a decent night's sleep. Ninety-minute-a-day Eliot (an exaggeration, of course) claimed he wasn't the least bit tired as he had taken his leave, shooed by Sophie after he nearly growled at a nurse who offered to take Ella to the nursery for the night. Ninety minutes... she is definitely going to put this to the test once teething sets in.

So after banishing Eliot to the lobby and politely declining the poor nurse, Sophie is finally alone with her daughter, and she's finally (barely) awake enough to enjoy it.

She's freed Ella's tiny hands so that they flail wildly while her eyes struggle to remain open. Sophie catches one and traces the palm, wondering with a sharp pain just what happened to Parker's and Hardison's mothers to separate them from their children, because after having held Ella in her arms, she can't ever imagine letting her go. She's now more than ever acutely aware of why Nate destroyed himself after Sam's death; she's not sure she could hold it together as little as he did, and she's only known Ella for thirteen hours.

She takes in every feature, commits every moment to memory. She remembers Parker's awe, Eliot's softening, Hardison's sweet young tears, at their first glimpse of Ella, displayed proudly in her daddy's arms.

Nate, who finally has another happy memory in a hospital. Nate, who held her hand tight and tried his best to support her even as he obviously struggled with his own demons. Nate, whose tear-stained face as they laid Ella in his arms for the first time will be with her for the rest of her life. She's never, ever, seen him so at peace, as if the weight was suddenly lifted off of his shoulders, for however brief a moment. That look is now echoed every time she catches him looking at their daughter.

"Hello darling."

She watches the newborn's fingers curl reflexively around her own index finger, examines the tiny little fingernails, and marvels at the firmness in that grip.

"What's going on in that little head, my angel? What pretty thoughts?"

None of the books could've prepared her for this, this feeling of absolute love and absolute terror. This tiny little human being is completely dependent upon her, not just to keep her alive, but to try to make sure that she doesn't turn out as screwed up as the rest of them.

She releases Ella's feet and feels them press against her palm, follows little toes up to soft baby legs, the tiniest dimples at her knees, the diapered rump. She wonders what those legs will do. Ballet? (Real) Football? Swimming? All of the above, or just the wonderfully average running and jumping of any child? She already dreads the first skinned knee, the first time that perfect baby skin is broken.

A _daughter_, she marvels, thanking the heavens once again for their good fortune. What would she have done with a boy? All boundless energy and sharp objects and slimy things? All the more painfully reminiscent of an older brother beyond their reach.

Of course, those elements will probably still be factors; she can't imagine that Eliot and Parker will allow their niece to grow to be one of those prissy girls who can't get her hands dirty, or that Hardison won't have her hopped up on orange soda as soon as her parents will allow it. And she knows that Ella, for better or for worse and however he manages to balance it, will always remind Nate of Sam. But this way, the chances are all lowered.

The chances are in favor, though, of Ella enjoying shopping sprees, baby dolls, and tea parties, pretty dresses, fancy shoes, and the occasional tiara. Sophie relishes the very idea.

She fights back a yawn and sees that Ella has no such qualms, giving in to one that stretches every muscle in her miniature body.

"Well, I can certainly take a hint. Do I really bore you that much?"

Ella's eyes are closed, her face scrunched in sleepy consternation as she squirms to get comfy.

Sophie gingerly pulls herself out of bed, thankful for that tiniest bit of the good drugs still left in her system. The plastic bassinet is only a few steps away, and she slowly sets Ella down, swaddling her back up. Her baby girl fights the constraints for a moment (she likes her freedom) but then settles down, drifting off to sleep while Sophie strokes her silly little ears. (Nate's, she realizes with a laugh, which momentarily rouses the newborn. She quickly settles back down.)

"Goodnight, my angel. I love you so."

* * *

_to be continued_


	6. Part 6

Title: Forty Weeks

Rating: PG

Characters: Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux, Team (plus Tara)

Pairing: Nate/Sophie, peripheral Parker/Hardison

Summary: There are an average of forty weeks in a pregnancy. That means the team has at most thirty to prepare for the hardest job they've ever pulled: raising a baby. Sequel to _Happy_. N/S, but with heavy presence of the team.

Spoilers/Time Period: Set at the end of a hypothetical fifth season, does not dispute canon up through The Morning After Job.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. (Except for Ella Ford!)

Author's Note: Here's part six. I'm very sorry for the delay, but to make up for it, this part is twice as long, and probably twice as schmoopy, as the previous chapters. I'm already hard at work on a sequel (or rather, a series of sequels) so be on the look out. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

* * *

**Part 6**

_13 hours old _

Banished to the waiting room to wait for Nate, who he's sure will be along shortly, Eliot pulls out his phone, finds the files, writes two brief emails, and presses send.

* * *

Checking her email one last time before she turns in for the night, Maggie finds a curious one from Eliot Spencer's Dr. Sinclair alias. She does the math and realizes what this must be about. She takes a deep breath and steels herself. She has to open it tonight, otherwise she'll never get any sleep.

His message is brief: "Ella Rose Ford. 1/12/13. 1:24pm. Mama and baby are doing great. Just thought you'd want to know. –E."

Below the text is a picture of someone (Parker, she guesses, based on the slim arms and tip of blond ponytail visible) holding a newborn. Baby Ella is swaddled up in a soft, white standard hospital blanket, stripes of blue, green, and pink at her feet, a smattering of dark hair framing a face at utter newborn bliss, tucked in her Aunt Parker's arms.

Ella doesn't look a thing like him, but Maggie can do is think of Sam and cry.

* * *

Tara wakes up to the email in Prague. Her message from Eliot is even briefer.

"Her name is Ella. Does it matter if we work again?"

Her picture is of a tired, beaming Sophie cradling the newborn, Nate looking over her shoulder with awe, into Ella's scrunched up little face.

No, Tara decides, for them it doesn't matter; they all have a new priority.

She takes a look at her schedule and makes a note to squeeze in a trip to Boston before summer.

* * *

_16 hours old_

Nate returns to the hospital in the pre-dawn hours to find both of the women who now so utterly control his life fast asleep. He probably should be as well, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep in their empty bed, thinking of the eagerly awaiting nursery.

He scoops Ella out of her bassinet. She sleeps through the transfer, snuggling into his chest as best as her swaddled body will allow. He stares into her perfect face and fights back the nagging dread.

Has the cancer that lurked in her brother's blood already begun to grow inside of her? Is he doomed to lose her too for daring to love again?

An insistent buzzing in his pocket saves him from that line of thought. Shifting Ella to one arm and stepping to the window, Nate answers the phone after a surprised glance at the caller id.

"Maggie?" he greets softly, so as not to wake Sophie.

"Congratulations. Eliot sent me a picture. She's just beautiful, Nate."

"She is," Nate has to agree, staring down at his daughter.

"Ella's a pretty name. After your mother?"

"Yeah. Maggie, it's two a.m. where you are."

"I couldn't sleep."

"I'm..."

"Don't you dare apologize. I was just awake and knew you would be, too. I thought I'd catch you now and congratulate you, while sleep deprivation is still novel and exciting."

"Thanks."

"Sophie's good?"

"Great. Well, as great as can be expected. We made it through the whole process without a single death threat, so I was impressed."

"I've apologized for that." A pause. "Enjoy Ella. She's..."

"A miracle," he breathes.

"Goodnight, Nate," Maggie says. He detects the sadness in her voice, but her warmth and genuine happiness for him overrules it.

"Goodnight."

The line clicks dead.

Little Ella sleeps on as her enamored father studies every perfect feature. She is her mother's daughter, he thinks. She looks nothing like the Eleanor she's named for; his mother was beautiful, but in a typical South Boston way, reddish blonde and freckled with bright blue eyes he'd inherited.

Ella's eyes are indeed newborn blue, but it is already a dark hue. Nate thinks (hopes?) they'll turn brown like Sophie's, not blue like his are, like Sam's and his mother's were.

Nate thinks her nose looks like Sophie's, her pouty infant lips look like Sophie's. Beneath her chubby newborn cheeks, Nate thinks her bone structure looks like Sophie's.

Maybe it's his sleep-deprived, love-addled brain playing tricks on him, that he can only see Sophie whenever he looks at Ella, because he's never loved his wife more than right now, with their daughter nestled safely in his arms. Maybe he thinks she looks so much like her mother because they're so inseparable in his heart and mind. Or maybe, just because Sophie is the most beautiful woman he's ever met.

Eliot had said she looks like Sophie because the grifter's genes are freakishly dominant. Hardison had snickered at the innuendo.

"I'd make the obvious joke, but I don't need _that_ image," the (previously) youngest member of their team had quipped, making Fanny the elephant talk to Ella, snuggled in Parker's arms at the time. "'Sides, we've got a baby in the room; gotta keep it clean."

Back in the present, Ella begins to whimper a little and push at the confines of her swaddling. He pulls her in tighter, whispering soothing words.

"Don't wake your mummy," he orders gently.

Ella settles down for now.

He thinks briefly, looking out at snow-blanketed Boston, about the two people he wishes could've met his unexpected little miracle.

He and Sophie had batted back and forth a million names in the last few months. Many were rejected because they belonged to one of the personas Sophie had laid to rest; others simply couldn't be agreed upon. They kept coming back to Nate's mother, the woman who had sheltered the smallest part of him from Jimmy Ford's cruelty and allowed him to be the man he is today.

But Nate didn't like "Eleanor"; he couldn't imagine a child with even half of Sophie's wild spirit being saddled with such an old name, and the idea of nicknames made Sophie uncomfortable. If they carefully chose a name, Sophie argued, they should use it.

Finally, counting minutes between contractions, one of them (it was all a blur, he couldn't for the life of him remember which) had suggested just Ella. As he'd held their little girl in his arms, minutes old and screaming with life, the name just felt right.

He only wishes her namesake were here to see how utterly perfect, and utterly healthy, Ella is. (Nate had the doctor run a genetic testing panel five times the usual size, just to be sure.) Eleanor Connor Ford would've loved little Ella Rose, a little girl to spoil and pamper. The teachings of her religion told him she was still here somehow, watching over them, taking care of one grandchild and sending another to help patch her son's heart together a little at a time.

He's never in his whole life wanted to believe that more, but he's still angry with God for selfishly taking Sam only for himself.

Sam.

Nate had held him once like this, held him close overlooking a painfully bright LA day and imagined his future, made a million hopes and dreams that were shattered into pieces eight years later.

He still misses Sam as much as he did the day his boy died, but holding Ella makes him feel closer to his first child than ever before. She doesn't fill the gaping hole Sam's death left in his heart, but she has snuggled in next to it, pulling the rest of the pieces back in place, finishing the work Sophie and the team started.

Maggie was right. Sam would be happy. Sam, who had adored the company of Maggie's younger nieces and nephews, would've just relished the idea of a younger sister to play with and make laugh.

Whatever his reservations about heaven, he'll always remind Ella of the basics.

"Your big brother Sam," he whispers as she sleeps, "He's always watching out for you."

* * *

Parker, Hardison, and Eliot are astoundingly absent when Nate finally brings Sophie and Ella home.

"We'll give her a proper HQ housewarming tonight. Y'all need time alone. Call if you need us," Eliot tells them on Nate's voicemail.

It's a welcome silence after the clamor of hospital checkout and before the team and Cora demand more viewings of the newborn.

There are, of course, the requisite pink balloons and streamers, the screen displaying "Welcome home, Ella!" in large, bright letters.

Upstairs in the nursery, so far unbeknownst to the exhausted family, on top of the other pictures waiting to be hung on the walls, is a framed snapshot of little Ella's aunt and uncles, Aunt Parker and Uncle Eliot having mummified poor Uncle Alex in pink streamers and someone (probably Aunt Parker) having surreptitiously tied a streamer like a bow around Uncle Eliot's ponytail.

"Not quite as much damage as I was expecting when they told me they were decorating," Nate sighs, lifting Ella's car seat/carrier onto the kitchen table. He grins at the wide-awake infant discovering her brand new surroundings, tickling her tiny sock-clad feet. Her feet kick instinctively at the touch. "Your aunt and uncles are very crazy, Ella."

"They did a lovely job," Sophie says, elephant Fanny clutched to her chest, moved as ever by the younger team members' excitement over Ella's arrival.

She crosses to Nate's side, leaning into him as she sets Fanny on the table beside Ella and joins him in staring at their baby girl. He puts his arm around her waist, a warm hand at her hip.

"Do you think she likes it?" Sophie asks, a smile in her voice.

"Not as much as she's gonna love the nursery you designed for her."

Sophie steps forward to unbuckle Ella, lifting her to her chest. She closes her eyes at the wonderful, now familiar, feeling of her daughter against her, soft and warm, and smelling like baby and...

"Oh. Let's go show her the nursery and try out the changing table."

Nate laughs.

"And then Daddy can make Mummy some lunch if she's up for it."

"That sounds wonderful. He's such a good Daddy," she says conspiratorially, dropping a kiss on Ella's downy crown. "He spoils us."

"Self-preservation," Nate teases, leaning in to kiss Sophie briefly, then brushing a kiss of his own onto Ella's head. "I've got two women to keep happy now."

They eat lunch upstairs in their kitchenette, Ella dozing even as she's frequently handed off between Mummy and Daddy in a move that's becoming more and more natural.

After lunch, Nate gives Ella her bottle in the rocking chair while Sophie slowly putters around the room, straightening and arranging, grateful to be up and about for just a little bit, no matter how sore she is.

"How's she eating?" Sophie asks as Nate stands to give her the chair, never breaking Ella's hold on the bottle.

"Like a champ," he assures her. "Look in the side table drawer."

Sophie's brow wrinkles, leaning over to the small table with the reading lamp on it.

"What did you do?"

Nate laughs, setting Ella's bottle down on the dresser and raising her to his shoulder, gently rubbing her back.

"I went shopping."

She raises an eyebrow as she finds a telltale light blue box nestled among the spare pacifiers and soft plush toys of the side table drawer.

"You _did_ go shopping. My money?" she teases warmly.

"Now, now. I'm pretty sure I took vows saying that was _our _money.

"To have and to hold each other's ill-gotten fortunes?"

She smiles widely, tenderly cradling the box in her hands.

"Exactly. Open it."

Inside the box is a stunning necklace whose central focus is a sizeable garnet surrounded by tiny diamonds.

_For our January girl_, the note inside says.

Hormones and exhaustion bring tears, but Sophie smiles through them, meeting his eyes.

"It reminded me of that one you had your eye on in Paris, the second time we were there."

"You mean the one you stopped me from stealing?" she teases.

"Exactly," he grins, still rubbing Ella's back. "I know it's not the nicest piece you won, but I thought..."

"It's beautiful. Exquisite. My second favorite piece of jewelry." She wiggles her left ring finger, 2.5-karat, emerald cut, platinum bound diamond on display.

As she clasps his gift around her throat (it just looks lovely with her sweats), Sophie catches the stupid grin on Nate's face and takes in the little angel snuggled into her husband's shoulder. She wonders again if this is just a dream. Of course, she hopes she could never dream such excruciatingly realistic childbirth, so she should probably be okay. Which means, this is all astoundingly real.

She pushes herself to her feet and presses her lips to Nate's, closing her eyes and enjoying the rightness. She pulls away only to rest her head on his shoulder, opposite Ella. One hand slips around his middle, the other gently caressing Ella's back.

"Thank you," she says, her words muffled by his chest. He smells of sterile hospital and baby wipes and Ella, but underneath it's Nate. She can't remember when (certainly long before now, certainly long before it was appropriate) but she's come to associate that Nate-smell with home and safety.

"You're welcome. I enjoyed picking it out."

"Not just for the necklace. For her. For Ella."

He beams at her briefly, a little teasingly. "Enjoyed the preliminary parts of that, too."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm serious."

He continues to smile at her until an epic belch shakes tiny Ella's frame.

They laugh. Ella looks as self-satisfied as a bleary-eyed one-day-old can.

"Good burp," Nate praises the infant. "C'mon, you shouldn't be on your feet, and we all need some rest before the invasion."

Fingers threaded together, they make it back to the bed, tangling together on top of the covers.

Ella falls asleep with her ear pressed to her daddy's heartbeat. Sophie snuggles into Nate's side, head on his shoulder, staring into Ella's sweet face. Hand holding Ella steady, Nate buries his face in Sophie's hair, fingers trailing lightly up and down her spine.

"Soph?"

"Hm?"

"Am I too old for this?"

She laughs sleepily. "_We're_ too old for this. Sorry, darling," she directs to Ella. "At least we've provided you with an aunt and uncles to play with."

"And babysit."

"Mm, yes. Lots of babysitting," she laughs.

"I love you," Nate says softly. He remembers when those words were the hardest ones to say, when they got caught in his throat, when she seemed millions of miles away and completely untouchable. How far they've come.

"Love you, too," she answers, the tail end caught in a yawn, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

How far they've come.

* * *

Fin

(For now. To be continued in _Tea Parties and Con Jobs_, a story that will have more plot than "Guess we gotta birth a baby".)


End file.
